


Lay Your Head Where It Burns

by BlossomsintheMist



Series: Steve/Tony Kinktober 2017 [10]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Hand injury, Hurt Steve, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Sex on Furniture, Sex on the Couch, Sexual Content, non permanent injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 13:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12433599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: “Maybe you could,” Steve said, then flushed, bit his lip.  His lashes shuttered down over his eyes.  “I mean,” he said.  “You give the best blowjobs, honestly, but.  But maybe you could.  With your, your hand.”Written for Day Twelve of Kinktober: Hand-jobs.  Set sometime prior to Avengers Disassembled.





	Lay Your Head Where It Burns

“Oh, thank fuck you’re back,” Clint said, and Tony stopped in mid-stride, because Clint wasn’t usually _quite_ so into his presence, and that had sounded like genuine relief.  He turned slowly on his heel and raised his eyebrows, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“Miss me that much, Hawkeye?” he said.

Clint rolled his eyes, because at heart he was still a teenager.  “It’s not me,” he said.  “It’s Cap.”

Everything inside of Tony went cold all at once.  “But, he said—” Tony said.  “Over the phone, everyone said—that he’s fine, it wasn’t bad, he’ll be back on his feet in no time, that’s what they said.  I would have come back, I would have cut the trip short if I’d known it was serious—” he wasn’t sure how he could have justified doing that, considering how stupidly important his business trip had been to the company, but this was Steve, nothing else mattered as much, and if he’d thought it had been anything other than a fairly minor, run of the mill injury like they all had—

“Jesus, chill out,” Clint said.  “Don’t have a heart attack.”

Tony frowned at him, still feeling his heart beating faster than normal, pounding in his chest, in his ears.  Had that been supposed to be a joke?  “If Steve isn’t okay—”

“He’s fine,” Clint said. “Or mostly fine.  But since you’re back, you can deal with him, rather than us. He won’t be as much of a—” he looked at Tony’s face, and seemed to amend what he was going to say “—a grouch with you,” he said, “everyone knows that.”

“I’ll go see him right away, then,” Tony said, barely hearing what Clint said.  “He’s in his room?”

“Yeah,” Clint said, and then, calling after him as Tony started moving through the mansion, “That was all I meant!  Seriously!”

Tony’s mind was racing as he hurried up to Steve’s rooms in the mansion, the same ones he’d been given years ago, right after he’d been unfrozen, and that they’d kept for him here all this time, even when he was living elsewhere.  He was glad that Steve was here, where he had some support, people to help him with things if he needed it, rather than taking himself off back to his apartment where he might not have someone around, might have to shift for himself, but did that mean that he was too seriously injured to go there on his own?  He knew how stubborn and independent Steve was, surely he’d have gone back to his apartment if he could, and—but he’d talked to Steve, on the phone, he’d said he was fine, he’d _sounded_ fine, if a little impatient with being injured, but he always was, he’d assured Tony that he’d let Jarvis take care of him, but Tony should have realized that was just to mollify him, Steve wouldn’t just let anyone take care of him like that, he was far, far too stubborn for that—

Tony came to a stop in front of Steve’s door, took a deep breath.   _Stop freaking out, Stark_ , he told himself.   _Whatever else, he’s still alive._  But if Steve was seriously hurt, and he’d been away on a _business trip_ —

He just had to make up for it now, however he could.  He knocked on the door, called out, “Honey?  Are you in there?  It’s me,” and then winced, hoped that hadn’t been too much, too—familiar, maybe Steve was feeling prickly, like he so often did when he’d been hurt, and added, “Uh, Tony, I mean.  It’s Tony.” And he hoped Steve hadn’t been sleeping, that he hadn’t woken him up.

“Tony?” Steve’s voice came, sounding scratchy, a little groggy.  Had he been sleeping, then?  Damn it, good going, Stark.  “Come in, jeez, don’t just stand out there.”

“All right, coming in,” Tony said, and that had sounded like Steve, so he couldn’t be that badly hurt, right, could he?  He had sounded okay—and he turned the knob, stepped into Steve’s room, taking care to close the door behind him.

Steve was sitting on the sofa in his room, a baseball game on the TV with the sound muted.  He gave a little shrug when Tony looked at him. “The fella they’ve got announcing was getting on my last nerve,” he said.  His voice sounded scratchy, low, even now that Tony was on the other side of the door, and Tony knew instantly, looking at him, why Clint had said what he had. Steve’s jaw was tight, his brow furrowed, and there was a deep crease carved in along his mouth.  His shoulders were hunched, and his body language was distressingly familiar.  Steve—didn’t always handle injury well.  It wasn’t the pain, Tony thought, it was the forced inactivity, feeling helpless, useless. It turned him into a snarling bear, withdrawn and turning in on himself and lashing out at the slightest provocation, protecting a hurt that was more about feeling powerless than the physical pain.

Of course, the inability to take actual painkillers to help with the physical pain probably didn’t help, either.

And why he might feel that way was just as obvious, what with the thick layers of bandages wrapping Steve’s hands, his arms, up to the elbows.  One of them was thick, bulky, clearly concealing a cast.  Steve was wearing a t-shirt and loose drawstring pants, but the shirt was skewed over his chest, and Tony didn’t want to think about the struggle Steve must have gone through to get it on over his head with his hands mitted like that and no doubt painful underneath those heavy bandages.  There was a big, nasty bruise on his head, too, over his eye, with a bandage just under Steve’s hair, gauze taped along the curve of his skull. Tony swallowed, feeling a sudden wave of guilt that he hadn’t been here, with Steve, when this had happened to him. Maybe if he’d been in the fight, he could have taken that blow, spared his poor hands, the armor was—was better at taking things like that anyway, and—

“I didn’t realize you were getting in yet,” Steve was muttering, flexing his hands in the bandages like they hurt.  Tony could just see the tips of his fingers.  Steve looked up at him, brow knitted, looking rather uncertain.

“I came back a little early,” Tony said.  “You were hurt, sweetheart, of course I came back early—” 

“Oh, Tony,” Steve said, and there was frustration in his voice.  “I didn’t want you to, that was why I told you—you didn’t have to.  I’m _fine_.” His jaw worked, and he looked about a second away from putting his fist through something, staring down at his bandaged hands.

Tony told himself not to feel hurt.  Steve was always sullen when he was injured or helpless, all prickles and brooding. He knew that.

“Well, I’d finished everything I needed to get done,” Tony pointed out.  “Why would I want to stay away from you any longer than I had to?” There, that was patient enough, wasn’t it?  He crossed the room, gestured at the sofa beside Steve.  “Mind if I sit down?”

Steve sighed, and his shoulders slumped.  “No, of course I don’t mind,” he said.  He looked down at his hands.  “I didn’t mean to snarl at ya.  I just didn’t want to make more work for you, or trouble, when I’d’ve been fine on my own. I heal quick, you know that.”

“Yeah, of course,” Tony said, “but how miserable are you until that happens?”  He leaned in, pressed a kiss to Steve’s bruised temple, as gently as he could.

Steve frowned, shrugged a little, and his pale, pasty skin went a little blotchy-pink.  “I’m fine,” he mumbled.  “Tony, I—”  His voice came out even lower on the next words, almost shy.  “I am glad you’re back.  Sorry if I didn’t seem like it before.”

“I’m glad to be back,” Tony said, leaving the rest of it and raising a hand, stroking his fingers lightly through the hair over the top of Steve’s head.  “How’s the head?”

Steve just shrugged again, gave him a crooked little smile.  “Little banged up,” he said, “not bad.  It’s healing; fine to sleep on it and all by now.  They said it was a concussion, s’all.”

“Mmm,” Tony said, let his fingers trail down to circle them at Steve’s neck, starting to rub them in against the tight muscles there.  Steve sighed, let out a breath, and Tony could see his shoulders slump slightly, loosening.  That was one scary looking bruise all over the side of Steve’s face— _Steve’s_ —but Tony knew better than to think Steve would appreciate him pointing that out.  He kept his fingers moving, pushing into the tense muscles at the back of Steve’s neck, massaging out the aches, but he reached up with his other hand, curved it against Steve’s jaw, and brushed his lips against the swollen abrasions over Steve’s cheekbone.  “Tell where else you’re hurt, and I’ll kiss you there, too,” he murmured, “make it better.” 

“Tony, I’m not a kid,” Steve said, but he was smiling now, almost unwillingly.

“I’m very well aware of that, tiger,” Tony said, and kissed the back of his neck.  He could feel Steve’s full-body shudder under him, and kept his lips there another moment, moving them up and down.  “So,” he breathed in Steve’s ear.  “Where else?”

Steve’s slightly less bandaged hand, the one that didn’t look thick with a cast all the way up to his elbow, moved to brush at his side, under his t-shirt.  “Broke a few ribs,” he said, and made a face.  “Landed sort of bad.  My fault.”

“I think,” Tony said, lifting up the shirt, sliding his hand under it, ignoring the twinge of pain that sent through his chest, that Steve would _blame himself_ , God, “that probably it’s the asshole who decided to blaze a trail of architectural destruction through lower Manhattan we should be blaming here, _mon cher_.”

“Well, yeah,” Steve said, with a little huff of a laugh that sounded slightly painful.  “Him, too, I guess.”  Tony tried not to wince too obviously as he pulled Steve’s shirt up his side and saw the dark pattern of bruising, nearly black in places, dark purple in others, shot through with angry red, that covered Steve’s ribs even where they weren’t padded with bandages and taped, and leaned down to press a kiss over the edges of the bandage, all along the taped places, before he moved back and left one right over the thickest part of the padding.  Steve squirmed a little, let out another rough, breathless laugh, like it tickled, and Tony trailed a finger gently over the bandage, before he let his shirt slide down again.

“Let’s be sure to put the blame where it belongs,” he said.  “What happened to your hands, sugarpie?”

Steve grimaced.  “Was using the shield to dig civilians out of a fire,” he said, in the same dull, resigned tone he’d probably used to report a bad mission back in his soldier days.  “Building came down on top of me, shield hit one of my arms—pretty bad, and, well.  My hands got a little cooked before I could pull ‘em all out.  My gloves took the worst of it, but.”  He shrugged.

Tony didn’t bother to hide his wince this time.  Steve had such beautiful hands, big and broad and strong, with sensitive artist’s fingers.  He pulled one of them up to his lips, careful to be gentle, pressed soft kisses against each one of Steve’s barely visible fingertips—at least those looked pink and healthy, not burned to a crisp.  The worst of the burns must have been on his palms.

“They should heal fine,” Steve said.  “With the serum.  Doctors said.  They just.  Itch like crazy.”

“That’s no fun,” Tony agreed, and ran his fingers softly down Steve’s bandaged palm.  “Blistered?”

“I guess so,” Steve sighed. “I’m supposed to change the dressings every day, but.”  He glared down at them, sullen.  “Kind of hard with no hands to do it with.”

Tony hid his wince at that. “Please tell me someone’s been helping you with that, cupcake,” he murmured.

Steve sighed, loudly. “Jarvis did the first day, Janet the second, Wanda the third,” he said.  “Goddamn babysitting.  I hate it, Tony.”

“Well, now I’m here,” Tony said.  “Changing bandages a specialty.  I wish I was kidding about that, but I’m not.”  He scratched Steve’s palm lightly, down over the bandage, barely using any pressure.  “I probably shouldn’t be doing this,” he said, remembering the dire warnings from his own experiences with burns, “but how does that feel?”

Steve moaned, his head flopping back loose against the sofa.  “Oh,” he said.  “ _Oh_.”

“That good, huh?” Tony grinned, and kept it up for a while, down over the wrist.  “Sorry, probably won’t work through the cast,” he added, even as he picked up that arm, too, holding it carefully as he kissed the tip of Steve’s thumb, each of his fingers in turn, on this hand, too.  The fingers on this one were a little more obviously bruised, though none of them looked too bad.

“I owe you a blowjob just for that,” Steve said, lazily, his eyes closed.  “That’s the best I’ve felt in days, Shellhead.”

“My pleasure, gorgeous,” Tony said, smiling and a little secretly pleased at that.  See, he was good for something.  “But I was thinking more the other way around?”

“Huh?” Steve asked. His voice sounded breathy now, soft. Tony leaned in, pressed his lips, just as soft, tenderly, to the pulse in his throat, sucked there gently. 

“My mouth, your cock, pumpkin pie,” he breathed against Steve’s throat.  “How about it?  Give you some pain relief the old fashioned way.”

Steve bit his lip, and Tony reached down, pressed his hand to the thickening bulge between Steve’s legs, feeling him hot and hard already through the soft fabric of his pants. Steve moaned, and his head sagged back even more, poor helpless hands sliding down along Tony’s arms to fall loose onto the sofa cushions.  Steve was already beautifully flushed, hot and red all over his nose and jaw, and Tony liked that better than his pasty pallor, the bloodlessness of his lips, from earlier, reached up and curved his hand against Steve’s jaw, pressed a kiss to the side of it.

“You don’t have to,” Steve mumbled.  “I—I—I wouldn’t like you to feel like, I mean, you just got back.”

“I just got back, and I want to do whatever I can for you,” Tony said, firmly.

“But, Tony,” Steve said, squirming under him as Tony closed his fingers, pulled up along his cock. He must have not had any underwear on under those loose pants, because Tony could feel the warmth of him vividly, the twitching weight and heat of that hot length under his hand, and there was already a damp spot bleeding through the cotton.  “I, I.  I don’t know. I.”

“Does that feel good?” Tony asked him, rubbing his jaw gently with the fingers of his other hand. “Your dick didn’t get hurt, did it? Need a kiss there, too?”

“Tony,” Steve said, with more vehemence, his eyes opening a little at that.  They were already flatteringly glazed, hazy, and he licked his lips.  “Nah. It didn’t get hurt, Tony, of course not.”

“Good, ‘cause that’d be a shame,” Tony murmured, with a quirk of his lips, already looking down where he had Steve’s hard length in his hand.  “Then let me, handsome.  You know it’ll make you feel better.”

“But,” Steve said, on a moan, arching his hips up into Tony’s hand, his head rolling loosely against the sofa.  “Oh, God. But Tony, I.  I—” his big bandaged paw of a hand came up, stroking along Tony’s arm clumsily, plucking at his shirt as he let it fall on another sigh. “I missed you,” he finally said, in a soft voice.  “I don’t want you to, to feel like I just want you to get down on your knees for me, I.” He bit his bottom lip.  “It’s stupid,” he said.

“No, it isn’t,” Tony said, immediately, and then took a second to process the rest of his words, and felt something thump, hard and uneven, inside his chest, squeeze tight and warm and affected.  “And, no, no, it wouldn’t be like that, champ.”  He reached down, slid his hand off Steve’s cock, which brought him a gratifyingly pathetic groan, and took Steve’s hand in both of his, cradling it gently. “It wouldn’t feel like that.  I just want to make you feel better, that’s all. And, you know, you’re a giant sexy sweetheart I constantly want to suck lovebites into, there’s that too.”

“I’m kind of a mess right now,” Steve said.  He was looking up at Tony, his eyes blown and dark, soft and dizzy.  “I—I mean, I haven’t showered, I probably stink, and—”

Tony leaned down, made a show of sniffing at him.  “Nope,” he said.  “Don’t stink. A little sweaty, but not bad.”  He was a little rank, but it wasn’t enough to be bothersome.  Tony didn’t mind that.

Steve smiled, and his face softened all over with it.  “Should have known you’d be determined,” he said.

“Yeah,” Tony said, and it came out breathless and soft.  “You should have.  I’m like that.”  He slid a finger down Steve’s bandages, traced it over the soft skin of the inside of his elbow, which looked slightly bruised.

“Maybe you could,” Steve said, then flushed, bit his lip.  His lashes shuttered down over his eyes.  “I mean,” he said.  “You give the best blowjobs, honestly, but.  But maybe you could.  With your, your hand.”

Tony blinked at him, and then a sudden equation was putting itself together inside his head.  Steve, who loved being held after sex, who loved touches, touching, during and after, skin against skin.  Steve, who had said he _missed him_.

“Oh, okay,” he said. “I gotcha.  That I can do, Winghead.”  He moved his hands up, cupped Steve’s face in both of them, gave him a soft kiss on the lips. “That I can definitely do.”

Steve sighed, softly, his lips softening, giving, opening easily, as he leaned up into the kiss. Tony made sure it was a long, slow, gentle one, soft and lingering, before he pulled away.  “Okay,” he said, and climbed over Steve to settle himself against the arm of the sofa, pushing himself into the corner.  “Lean back against me, sport,” he said, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder, guiding him in, firmly.  Steve shuffled around, obediently, put his back against Tony’s chest and leaned back into him, and Tony could feel the slight softening in his shoulders, the way they rounded soft and easy and willingly into the curve of Tony’s body, see the smile on Steve’s face, soft and lax and trusting, as he lay back and looked up at Tony.

Oh, yeah, he’d needed this, hadn’t he, Tony thought with a wrench of sweet, sudden, almost painful fondness.  He pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead, stroked his hair back from it with one hand, and Steve sighed, closed his eyes, let his head turn inward against Tony until his (still too clammy) forehead was pressed against Tony’s neck.

“I’ve got you, sweetcheeks,” Tony murmured, sliding his hands ever so gently down over Steve’s chest, careful of his broken ribs, to push his loose pants down, over his hips, sliding his shirt up over his belly with his other hand at the same time. “That’s it, just let me make you feel good.”  Steve’s hard cock sprang free, already flushed and thick and wet, jumping up to thump against his belly, dripping precome all over, and okay, that was enough to make Tony’s mouth water all on its own, would be even more appealing if it weren’t for the painful looking bruises all over Steve’s torso, the bandages taped along his ribs.  Still, Tony could feel his own arousal, warm and firm against Steve’s back.

He slid his hand down, closed it gently around Steve’s hot, hard length, and pulled up slowly, feeling more than hearing Steve’s whimper, the slow shuddering breath that left his body. Steve was uncut, and that and the copious amounts of precome he always produced, leaking all over his shuddering belly, made it easier for Tony to do this without lube, stroking Steve slowly up then down, pulling down his foreskin to reveal his flushed, needy cockhead. Tony nuzzled in against Steve’s neck, let his warm breath travel over Steve’s ear, his jaw, before he started following it with soft, wet kisses of his own.

Their bodies felt very warm, pressed together, and Steve’s abdominal muscles were jumping, quivering under his hand.  His eyes were pressed tightly shut, soft, breathy moans shivering out of his mouth as he bit his bottom lip pink, gulped and moaned and arched over Tony with a lot less energy than his usual radiant, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed sexual self. That was totally fine with Tony. This was just as sweet, Steve lying trustingly in his arms, exhausted by his injuries and the sullen fit of misery he’d fallen into, letting Tony coax him out of it and into soft, helpless, willing pleasure.  Tony would do this for him any day, and call it a privilege.  He rubbed his palm at the base of Steve’s cock, slid it down and cupped his balls, and Steve panted, shoulders pushing back, down against Tony as his back arched and his hips lifted helplessly, up into his hand, then slid back down.  He groaned, panting.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Tony murmured.  He flattened one hand over Steve’s tight, trembling abs, held him down.  “Take it easy.  I’ve gotcha.”

Steve whimpered, turned his head tighter in toward Tony’s neck, nosing in against his tie, the soft skin at the base of his throat, and inhaling deeply.  His hands were lying helplessly against Tony’s thighs, strong arms lax and heavy, and it was strange, but not bad, taking care of him when he was this dependent on Tony, to set the pace, to give him pleasure.  It felt good, making Steve feel good always did, always would, Tony was sure of it. He slid his hand back up, went back to squeezing Steve’s cock gently, stroking him up and down, working him up slow, brushing soft kisses over his nose, his cheekbone, the curve of his eyebrow, the place where his hair hung tousled over his forehead, murmuring to him between each one, telling him how beautiful he was, how gorgeous and perfect, how good he felt, how much Tony had missed him, missed this.  He gave Steve’s cock a few twists up over the head with his palm, feeling him leaking all the more, wet and slippery with precome, but tried not to tease his sensitive tip too much, feeling the way he flinched, moaning, every time he did.

It didn’t take long for Steve to come, gasping and moaning and spurting come all over his belly and Tony’s hand, and Tony stroked him through it until he was writhing, flushed and whimpering, then kissed his temple, his cheekbone and brought his hand away, leaning over just until he could grab a few tissues from the table in front of the sofa and wipe the come up off of Steve’s belly and off over his dick, even while Steve writhed and laughed a little breathlessly over him, under his hand. Tony wrapped the dirty tissues up in a few more tissues and dumped them on the floor, then reached down and eased Steve’s pants back up, tucking his cock away gently, pressing a kiss against his neck as he did.

“Feeling better, champ?” he murmured against Steve’s jaw.

“Hell,” Steve mumbled, reverently.  “So much better, Tony.” 

“Good, good,” Tony said, smiling.  There you had it.  It had been a good idea.

“Can I,” Steve said, low and soft, slurred, “can I do somethin’ for you?”

“We’ll save that one, sugar,” Tony told him, kissing along his hairline again, against his temple. “Later, all right?  I just want to hold you for now.”

“Mmm,” Steve said, “s’sweet of you, Tony, thank you.”  He sounded sleepy, yawned, dragged his eyes open.  “Hey,” he said, sounding pleased as he glanced up at the television.  “Th’ Dodgers won.”

Tony laughed, pulled Steve’s shirt back down over his stomach.  “You get some rest,” he said, and scooped up the remote, clicking off the television.

“Sure thing,” Steve mumbled, and one bandaged hand came up, brushed Tony’s shoulder, against his cheek, clumsily.  “As long as you’ll be here when I get up.”

“Count on it,” Tony told him, taking that hand in his own, ever so gently, and bringing it back down to the sofa, curling his fingers around it and feeling that warm, tight, almost painful twinge of feeling in his chest again.  He pressed one more kiss to Steve’s temple, arranged his other arm, the one in the cast, to lie more comfortably across his belly, trying to angle it so it wouldn’t tweak or jostle his ribs too badly.  “Count on it.”

“Mmm,” Steve said. “Thank you, Shellhead.”  And just like that, he was asleep.

Out like a light, Tony thought, fondly, and settled down to hold him for a while.  Normally, just sitting there, nothing to do, he’d have been bored, but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to have that problem.  Not this time.


End file.
